It was decided on this fine Wednesday morning that Pension Aussie, despite its colloquial charm or lack thereof, harbours the worst beds of any place i´ve stayed before. It was a blessing, however, that the local construction workers had completed whatever it was they were doing yesterday morning, and noise was thus kept to a relative minimum.
Again, i have to say, it was a bloody weird senstiona opening up the balcony doors and peering weerily down the thin lanes of the San Seb old quarter. Still pinching myself every five or so minutes. I´ve been away a few days now, just on a week, and i´m still in no mans land, a transitory mental period between ´back home´and ´the overseas life´, and it startles you no end when you wake up half forgetting you´re on the other side of the world in Spain of all places.
We checked out of the Pension Aussie around 11am, met up with out Aussie mate Matt and hit a local Spanish restaurant for another big lunch/breakfast feed, in keeping with the local custom and order of meals.
Though not as heavy as yesterday´s smorgasbord, i had an awesome fish soup, a confit of duck - some seriously tender, fall off the bone duck, a bottle of wine, bread and dessert.
The plan for tonight was to head on down to Madrid, roughly an 8 hour overnight train ride south to the guts of Spain, meanwhile we´d have to kill an afternoon in San Seb before the 10.30 train.
Hung out with our aussie chum, strolled around the other side of the San Seb main beach and bay area, and analysed the youth culture and heavily ´surf´ oriented vibe of the younger cats around these parts. Saw a number of youngsters tucking quite candidly into the local contraband, and pondered what Spain´s stance was regarding illicit drug use.
Apparently the Madrid government actually has little problem with the consumption of Marijuana, and in some cases supports it - anything to quell and calm down the fervent ´Basque´ socialism and desire for independence in this region.
Found ourselves in a few more random bars, had a dodgy pizza that made Papa Giuseppe taste like fine cuisine, and hooked up some more shady advice from our new best mate skippy, who seemed a little too knowledgable about the Moroccan hash trade and the ins and outs (no pun intended) of the Madrid sex industry for our liking.
Night befall the coastal gem of San Sebastian, and two blokes thousands of miles from home lugged back breaking packs on to the night train to Madrid.
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